


A Cup full of Potions

by orangememory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangememory/pseuds/orangememory
Summary: Stories of love,life, happiness,fear and tragedy. A collection of drabbles for the Harry Potter universe.





	1. Abyss

 

**Abyss**

He looks into the mirror, pure and white. Where there was once a handsome face, there is stark white evil. A thin red line, for a mouth. But the strangest deviation is the eyes.

He had been proud of them, dark carnelian blue with flecks of green. Or maybe closer to the shade of a tempestuous sky. Eyes that could entrance, cajole, enchant people for selfish purposes.

But they are bottomless pits now, fiery yet bleak, a life lost. They tell of the deep abyss he is sinking into. But he does not regret it. Smiling, Voldemort takes the plunge.


	2. Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A neglected daughter becomes a Sinful Daughter. Why Petunia can never read Shakespeare again.

_**Here's the smell of the blood still: all the** _   
_**perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little** _   
_**hand. Oh, oh, oh!** _

_**Lady Macbeth,** _

_**From Macbeth, by William Shakespeare** _

**Sin**

There are many stories in the world, stories of valour, stories of life, stories of blood written on innocent human hands.

Petunia Evans reads one such story, the Macbeth, her favourite play. Page after page of Macbeth's life, Lady Macbeth's cold schemes, and finally destruction and insanity in the end.

Petunia vaguely wonders if these stories come true.

* * *

Petunia has just come home from college, proudly bearing her certificate. Everyone lauds her as a genius, as brilliant at English Literature and Shakespeare, except at her own homestead.

 

The family without her, is a happy family, the ones whose pictures grace the covers of the women's magazines her mother buys. With her, the family is just another mundane family.

She knows she doesn't belong among them.

But she tries hard to be one of them. If not, then at least a shadow that clings to them.

But Lily makes sure she isn't there. Every family photograph has Lily in it. But when she steps in, it's like someone ruins the frame.

And all because of Lily.

* * *

"Lily's getting married!" beams her happy mother. Petunia smiles politely, wishing Lily the best.

 

Her mother doesn't care about the tell-tale bump in her dress, or think about the new grandson who will be born in another four months.

"We have to go shopping for my wedding dress!" Lily says to their, no, _her_ mother.

"Of course, darling! And remember to invite Mr.Dumbledore and Ms.McGonagall personally, and don't forget we need 300 embroidered silk napkins."

Petunia remembers her own frugal wedding, a few guests, a simple dress and an intimate dinner.

Her mother never went shopping for a dress with her.

And why was that? Oh, because Lily was to graduate that day from Hogwarts.

It was always because of Lily.

* * *

Petunia wakes up in a cold sweat. She feels a presence in the house, something choking her. She feels something sorrowful crawling the passages, weeping out her sister's name.

 She pats the month-old child next to her, and ventures out of the room, seemingly unafraid. But her bone is chilled, and she feels hazy and terrified.

Then Death itself appears in front of her, with blood eyes.

Petunia almost falls.

_Where is Lily Potter?_ He hisses like a snake, whose potent venom compresses Petunia's throat.

"I don't know." she practically screams, but comes out as a pitiful whimper.

_So you are her sister. Pitiful, you are not like her._

" What are you?"

_I am Lord Voldemort._ He laughs an eerie laugh, something you hear in the sickened dreams of human monsters.

_I shall spare your life, muggle, if you give me information about her._

Petunia shivers. Her sister, how can she tell him about her? After all, her sister is running, running from him.

_Interesting, you don't like your sister, do you? Hasn't she ruined your life?_

" How do you know?" Petunia asks him boldly, her voice quivering.

_How would you like me to take her life away, just like I can take yours now, in a trice? Tell me about her, now._

Petunia keeps silent.

_Don't you have a son?_ She can hear the smirk in his voice. No, not her child.

Lily has destroyed every memory of hers. Petunia makes her choice.

She gathers courage and tells him all about her sister, and the baby she carries.

As he leaves, she bites out words in anger. " Kill her, if you see her again."

Voldemort's mouth curves in a sinister smile, and he is gone.

Petunia wonders if Lily will ever be gone.

* * *

The bawling children had finally fallen silent, and waves of gentle sleep gradually overtook them.

 

Petunia takes a breath, and falls into a large, comfy sofa. She is angry, very angry.

Her sister was her nemesis, now she is saddled with her son. The same emerald eyes, asking her questions. She doesn't understand why they bother her so much.

After a tiring day, she finally finds time to read a book. She rummages through an old, unused pile of books. Books cherished, but forgotten over the course of years.

Petunia picks up an old dusty volume. It is Shakespeare's Macbeth.

A gust of wind blows from an open window, scattering the loose pages, which have turned yellow in just a few years. Like Petunia, who had aged almost overnight.

Petunia picks up the lost remnants of her bitter times, and suddenly glances upon a page. In it, Lady Macbeth has become insane, and she sees blood everywhere, even on the walls.

Suddenly, in a frozen moment, Petunia sees his face in the window, and then, he is there no more.

Petunia is stunned, and she lets the book fall from her hand. The wind makes the pages swirl around her guilty form, like torrents.

And the Petunia sees red. Red, crimson, vermilion, all staining the walls. Staining family pictures and ornaments, and also staining her hands.

Petunia screams in agony, and runs from one room to the other, to find each awash with blood. Lily's blood.

She scrubs the walls with her bare hands, and all she can get rid of is the dirt. But not the blood.

Petunia falls to the floor, hovering between lunacy and sanity, between remorse and glee. And all she can see are tainted hands. Petunia realizes that the sin of Lily's death will always weigh against her.

From that day onwards, the sin of murder stains Petunia's life with the fear of blood.

And nor does she read Shakespeare again.


	3. Vivid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't meet a girl like her every dynasty. Harry X Luna

 

**Vivid**

Harry never ceased to be amazed by her. He had met golden fairies, ginormous giants, kind werewolves, but never, no one like her.

She could never be like Hermione. Hermione, like the soothing green of graceful trees flailing in the softest breezes.

She could never be like Ron, bumbling, and bright, his soul and laughter as rich as his hair.

She could never be like anyone he knew. Oh, she was beautiful, and unique.

Colours swirled around her like tempests, for she was not monotonous, but she was shimmering and spangled, lucent and lambent, she was radiant and resplendent. She was a friend of the trees, the winds, the animals- and life itself.

She would smile, and the darkest hours would fade into oblivion.

As Harry waited for his fiancée to walk down the aisle, he thought of how much he loved her, and how vibrant and vivid she was.

As the sombre wedding music began to play, Harry looked up to see his bride-to-be.

And Harry laughed.

For a person as unfathomable and vivacious as she was, he should have known that Luna would have worn a plaid wedding dress.


	4. Remains of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threading through a maze, Hermione searches for what she lost.

**Remains of the day**

They threaded through the dense maze of London, through the long streets and tiny lanes, while the smoky sky rained on them, leaving them cold. _Cold._

The masses of humanity huddled from one place to another, sighting each other, yet lost in a sea of faces in the inhuman world. There was a variety of emotions, fear, anger, hatred, pain. But who cares about them anyway? They were just the people walking next to you, or having lunch at the same restaurant. Why would anyone care?

But no one would have forgotten her face. Fire burned within her and her green eyes were aglow. She had been wronged, surely. But no one cared, after all.

The two people finally reached their destination. Or rather, a grey mass of rubble, where there had once been a homestead, but now, a ruin.

Screaming, she fell upon the remains, trying to search for what she had lost. Her family. Her home. _Her memories._

They all had taken it away from her, just because she dared to oppose them. Because she stood tall and proud, as one of their strongest adversaries, the one who would not back down.

She tried to find the remains of her loved ones, blood streaming down her hands, as the stones and sharp wood splints cut into her hands. He tried to stop her.

No. She wouldn't.

Here and there she finds pieces of what were there. A bit of china, probably from her mother's prized collection. A tiny glass eye, maybe from one of her childhood playmates.

A book, smelling of her father's touch.

She would find them.

Her hands find something, wedged between two stones. She stares at it, remembering an old man, who smelled of the country, of green grasses and wooden trees. Of summers spent frolicking in the arms of nature, among the sweet-scented apple trees, and the cinnamon.

Her grandfather's old white hat, faded, torn around the edges, yet intact.

It was once a pure, pristine white but that was long ago, hidden somewhere in the recesses of her memory. Her life.

Suddenly, she realizes, she knows, that they could not destroy anything. Maybe her physical, material memories, but not who she was, or what she would become.

She gets up, a new resolve in her heart. She glimpses at the ruins lying in front of her.

She will not let the broken shards of her past prick her feet, like pieces of green-sea glass, along a distant sandy shore.

_She will take revenge._

She holds his hand, and leads him away from what has-been. To lead him into the future.

"Hold on, Hermione. Be strong." he whispers and kisses her forehead.

"I will be. I have found what I was looking for."


End file.
